


After the Fall (Part One)

by ShipSandwich



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fannibals, Fluff, Hannibal x Will - Freeform, M/M, Murder Husbands, Will x Hannibal, Wrath of the Lamb, nbc hannibal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipSandwich/pseuds/ShipSandwich
Summary: Hannibal and Will interacting after the events of Wrath of the Lamb.





	After the Fall (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever! Please be gentle. It all started from a small idea that grew and grew. If anyone likes it, I’ll finish what I’ve started on the second half. It will include le smut. I hope you like it! X

He runs his fingers over the three-piece works of art hanging in the cupboard. He had brought them here months before his arrest and, as such, they were three years untouched. The once tailored suits were ever so slightly too big for his practically prison-starved frame. This fact did not diminish his joy in being reunited with some of his favourites. A dark sage herringbone, a puce with a violet glen check, a royal blue and grey chalk stripe, and finally, a claret plaid. It is this jacket he feels down the back of, savouring the sensation of high quality linen, tugging the garments arm out from the line-up to inspect.

Despite Alana’s best efforts, the institution that he had spent part of his sentence in was not lavish. It was barely comfortable. He had been starved for elegance, and here in one of his smaller cabins, he could start to reclaim some semblance of the life he had given up.

With a low grunt of approval he presses the jacket flat, back into place, and turns to the foot of the large, ornate bed.

Protruding from the rumpled white sheets were splayed limbs. The warmth of the linen and the blood and sweat on the man creep into Hannibal’s flared nostrils. The bleeding had stopped, but it saturated the bandages and plasters he had placed all over. The sweat was left over from what he knew were harrowing dreams. They had both bathed in the sea last night. They had both tasted blood.

Hannibal was prepared for the fall. He knew that escape may end up at the bottom of that cliff. The thought was cold comfort as he hit the water. He had braced, feet first, holding Will around the thighs. The impact buckled his knees a little, but he broke the surface well enough for Will’s limp body to follow down easily. He kicked hard and surfaced gasping for air, hauling Will up with him. All he had to do was stay above the waves and wait…

Chiyoh had not been far from Hannibal during his internment, renting a flat close by. On the day of Hannibal’s attempted transfer, she had hired a bike to follow their progress, staying far enough behind that Francis Dolarhyde had not perceived her as a threat. She followed Hannibal to a cliffside house and watched. She realised after some time that he and Will weren’t leaving; that they planned to remain, despite the danger. She cautiously crossed the lawn to the front door which opened wide. Hannibal was waiting.

They had a short conversation in low voices, and she left. She had found the boat at the marina a state over, and drove it back to the cliffs, just below where she assumed the house sat, and there she waited...

It wasn’t long before he felt the vibrations in the water. The sound of a small motor began to distinguish itself from the roar of the waves. A boat emerged from the black.

Hannibal recalled all this while staring at the man in his bed. A mess of dark curls clung to his damp forehead. Half his face obscured by the pillow. Will’s full lips and hard jawline were enough to rob Hannibal of breath.

He moves quietly to the left of the bed, toward the window, and gently eases open the blinds. The pale grey of the heavy, cloud-filtered light washes out the warm illumination from the solitary lamp, and catches on the sharp planes of the sleeping mans face.

Slowly, his eyelids slide open to reveal the chestnut brown irises and black unfocused pupils, attempting to assess his surroundings.

Their eyes meet. “Hannibal?” The sombre croak sounds painful. Hannibal’s heart leaps at hearing Will say his name. He moves to the bedside table and pours him some water. He kneels beside the bed and offers the drink. Will’s hand touches the cold glass and he shivers.

“Would you like me to light the fire?” Though equally hoarse, Hannibal’s voice is steady and calm. Will pushes himself up.

“I’m alright. How…?” he pauses.

“How did we get here?” Hannibal ventures. Will nods.

Hannibal, still kneeling beside Will, places his hands under his chin and smiles. "There was a smell you couldn’t place last night. There wasn’t time enough for you to dwell on it. The silage of a perfume. Where had you smelled it before?”

Will twists to lay his back against the headboard. He recalls he and Hannibal conversing in the lounge room of the house on the cliff, when he heard a bike pull up outside. Hannibal had cocked his head to the side, listening. He remembers sitting in the high backed recliner he had settled into, and Hannibal glancing down at the hand he had placed over his holster. Hannibal had asked him to wait inside. Will stared at Hannibal, but silently complied. No longer dreading the unknown. He supposed he had Hannibal to thank for that.

When he returned inside he could smell something new. It was very faint. The briny sea air carried it in for an instant. A woody, resinous scent. He can finally place where he had smelled it before.

“Where is she?”

“Chiyoh has gone to collect some items for us so that we might travel someplace else.”

Will sits amongst the sheets, unmoving: metabolising the experiences they’ve endured the past few days. Despite himself, he felt an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude that they had survived. Here they were. Alive and together. No longer the man he loathed, but the man he loved. He smiles at Hannibal. He finally let the feelings he repressed for so long fill him completely.

Hannibal sensed the shift in Will. He could feel the uncertainty melt away. A poignant finality to the conflict within him. He lifted himself onto the bed beside Will, smiling in return. “In the harsher light of day, do you still feel the same?” 

Will allowed himself to revisit the memories. The giddy surges of adrenalin, cresting to new heights during the fight with the Red Dragon. Feeling it peak when he tasted the crimson warmth on his tongue. His eyes darted to Hannibal’s lips. His breathing hitched envisioning them once again smeared with blood. 

He places a hand on Hannibal’s chest, and closes the distance between their bodies. “It’s beautiful.” 

Keeping an unspoken promise made just before he pulled them into the waves that eroded the bluff, he presses his lips to Hannibal’s. The fall was his last ditch effort to avoid making a decision he could never come back from. Now he truly knew he couldn’t save himself, and that really was just fine.


End file.
